Blood is Thicker
by Lila Leigh
Summary: Jess rescues Slim after a late spring blizzard leaves him injured on the high reaches of the ranch. Now Slim has to return the favor.
1. Chapter 1

Blood is Thicker by Jan Graham/ Lila Leigh

The last of the early calves had been dropped while the herd was in winter pasture. For over three weeks, spring had erased winter's chill and new growth made the Sherman ranchers long for the greener grass on the other side of the pasture fence.

Only yesterday, Slim decided the calendar and the stretch of good weather would allow their cattle to be driven to summer graze. The two young men raced each other, full of high spirits and tired of the confines of winter quarters themselves, whooping with sheer exuberance. They exchanged face-splitting grins, shook out their lariats and hazed the livestock through an open gate into the upper meadows.

Their mounts were just as happy to stretch their legs and celebrated with little crow hops, tossing their heads and chomping on bits. The boys had let them run until the herd was in sight. Alamo and Traveller were in fine fettle. As Slim said, "They could turn on a dime and give you some change". The cowponies braced their forelegs, staring down any belligerent steer or new mama who dared to challenge the path their riders demanded.

"That went fast, Slim. Them ornery critters were as anxious to get to this sweet new graze as we are to plunk 'em up here where we don't have to haul hay and wipe their tails for 'em ever' day."

Laughing at his best friend's wry observations, Slim Sherman agreed, "Yeah, they'll fatten up fine on this lush grass."

"Most of the snow has melted off, only the deep drifts and shady pockets are left. And some a that will still be here at the end of June." Jess braced one hand on his mount's rump as he slouched in the saddle, gazing toward higher ground, "Back in Texas, my Pa always said when the snow took on that blue tint it was hangin' around for more to join it. He'd get to frettin' when it wasn't all gone by the first of May."

"Well, up here in God's country, that piddlin' little bit of snow will help feed the creeks clear through August." Slim pushed his hat to the back of his head and gazed around at the rich Wyoming land his father had homesteaded, "We should get a fine return when we cull the herd for the drive this fall," he noted with satisfaction.

"Did you fill in the tally book, Jess?"

"Yeah, Boss. I ain't no tenderfoot," Jess bristled, "Been rustlin' beeves since before you was born."

"Rustlin' makes a poor choice of words where cattle are concerned, Hotshot! Good thing I know you're horsin' around or I might have to haul you in before Mort Cory."

"Now you're talkin', Slim, we can get to gentlin' some mustangs for the _cavalry_ instead of babysittin' all them _calves_ ," Jess chuckled.

Slim grinned at his partner as he spun Alamo and gathered himself, "And I'll thank you to remember you're the baby of this outfit." He put spurs to his mount and called back over his shoulder, "Race you to the lake! Last one home has to bring in the stove kindlin'!"

SR

Since the beeves were squared away by late the previous afternoon, Slim had taken this morning to work on stage line books and ranch accounts.

After changing teams for the noon stage, he rode out to clear brush damming the creek between their range and Ben Parkison's spread.

Shortly after breakfast, Jess had left for Laramie to buy fencing supplies and to fill Daisy's shopping list. His plan was to pick Mike up from school and let the youngster practice driving the wagon home. Right after he himself practiced asking Miss Malone, the current school marm, to the first social of the season.

On his way into Laramie, Jess spent some time perfecting his invite on the placid draft team. Robin and Clem would flick an ear or shake their heads when Jess asked what they thought, but Robin's eye roll was enough to convince him he needed to sound more sincere. Finally satisfied he had every word just so, Jess chirped to the horses and shook the reins over their backs to hurry them along.

SR

The warm weather had brightened all their spirits and Daisy welcomed the chance to air smoke-stained curtains and sheets. Plotting her next scrubbing foray, she pondered how much she could persuade Slim and Jess to help before bedtime.

Mid-afternoon, with little warning and a banshee howl, a late spring storm came roaring out of the northwest. Daisy had been taking her wash off the line, appreciative for once of the constant breeze which had rapidly dried her clean linens. Fast moving gray-bellied clouds blotted out the warming rays of the sun and fat raindrops sprinkled her load of ironing without aid from her own experienced hand. Tucking the basket of laundry under her arm, she hurried into the house before the first scattered drops turned into more than a gentle April shower.

SR Chapter 2

Mike was proud of being allowed to guide the team while Jess relaxed. He grinned when Jess responded with a grunt or occasional " _uh-huh_ ", his hat tilted down over his eyes. Jess was only half paying attention to Mike's mile-a-minute chatter, his mind lingering on Miss Katie Malone's intoxicating smile and her shy agreement to go with him to Saturday night's dance.

Rain caught up with them about halfway between Laramie and the ranch, both laughing as the warm drops slicked Mike's bangs to his head and dampened their clothes, but not their spirits. The temperature began to drop, the mild shower and light breeze becoming a furious squall. Jess took the reins, Mike tucked in tight beside him, only his eyes peeping out between the toggles on Jess's yellow slicker. Clem and Robin responded quickly to Jess's urging, anxious to be out of the driving rain and secure in a dry stall.

Slim greeted them, likewise clad in bright yellow rain gear, his hat sluicing water down his back. He waved Jess into the barn, swinging the doors closed behind them. They all laughed at the picture they made, bedraggled and dripping puddles into the straw and dust of the aisle between the big box stalls.

"Boy, that storm sure blew up in a hurry!" Slim exclaimed, "Lucky thing you had your slicker along, Jess, or Mike might've melted plum away."

"Aww, Slim, quit your teasin'. I can't help it if Aunt Daisy thinks I'm still some little kid," Mike complained, "I drove almost all the way home. Jess only took over when the storm got so bad. I'm old enough to do a lot more important stuff than any of ya think."

Exchanging a quick wink with Slim, Jess agreed, "Yes sir, Slim, pretty soon Mike's gonna put us both out to pasture."

Mike shot back, "That's right, Jess. You and Slim can sit on the porch and jaw with each other while I do all the heavy work. I won't even have time to go to school there'll be so much I can take off your hands."

"Whoa, there, Tiger," Slim interrupted, "School comes first, like it or not. Miss Daisy will have all our heads if you go in spoutin' a notion like that."

"I won't say nothin', Slim. It'll be our secret. I'll get up ever' morning and leave like I'm goin' to school, but then circle around and do Jess's chores – and yours too - before Aunt Daisy knows anything about it."

His guardians shook their heads, but had to turn away to hide their smiles at young Mike Williams's finagling to keep from going to school. He saw book learning as only a ploy keeping him from taking care of more important matters at home. And those important matters could be anything from soaping harness and mucking out stalls to searching for a second horny toad to keep Betsy from being lonely. In Mike's eyes, most any chore, no matter how tiresome, was better than being cooped up indoors in a musty schoolroom memorizing multiplication tables and long, boring poems.

Mike kept up his campaign to become a fourth grade truant. But he agreed to drop the subject before heading inside where Daisy might overhear. They emptied the wagon, each one carrying some parcel.

Dismayed exclamations came from all three ranchers as they discovered the rain had turned to hard pellets of sleet mixed with snow while they tended to evening chores in the snug barn. They dashed to the front porch, with Mike slung over Slim's shoulder. All three peeled out of their wet boots and slickers before tramping over Daisy's freshly mopped floors.

SR Chapter 3

Supper did not have its usual quota of lively conversation and jokes as the family caught up with each other's day. The wind howling around the corners of the little cabin and snuffling under the doors made Daisy look around uneasily. A violent gust down the chimney blew ashes and sparks onto the living room floor and Jess leaped to stomp out the embers before they could blaze up. He took time to scrape the fire box and scoop all the built-up ashes into a bucket before adding two new logs to the grate and scooting them around until they caught fire.

Slim had a grim set to his jaw and he distractedly ran his hand through his straw-blonde hair. He and Jess were taking turns wearing a path to the front window.

Mike and Jess cleared the table, no one much interested in the usual second or third helpings of Daisy's fine meal. "Come on, Mike, you've been promoted to chief cook and bottle-washer," Jess said as he steered Mike toward the kitchen.

"Well! I like that, Jess Harper. Was my supper that bad?" Daisy asked with a mock frown.

"Uhhh, maybe only chief bottle-washer and plate-dryer," Jess returned with a sly upward peek through his thick lashes. None of them wanted to get on their cook's bad side. They all remembered having to fix their own grub or eat cold pork and beans when Daisy decided to teach them a lesson.

The rattle of pans as Jess washed and Mike dried echoed from the kitchen. Slim twitched back the curtain and wiped a spot on the fogged window to peer out again at the blowing snow.

"Alright, Slim, what are you not telling me?" Daisy finally asked, "And don't try to pull the wool over my eyes."

She had settled into a chair beside the fireplace, letting down the hem on a pair of Mike's trousers. She looked up at Slim as she snipped off her thread, "I can see both you and Jess are worried to death about something."

"It's the cattle, Daisy. In this blizzard, they'll drift before the wind and when they reach the south boundary fence, they'll pile up together against the fence or in a corner. The back ones will keep pushing and shoving forward and the ones in front have nowhere to go."

Jess came from the kitchen, his hand on Mike's shoulder. Slim frowned, and opened his mouth to send Mike to bed, but Jess interrupted, "No, Pard, Mike's part of this family too. He has a right to hear what you're tellin' Daisy."

Mike walked over and slipped his small hand into Slim's large, calloused one. Unconsciously mirroring Slim's arrow-straight bearing, he gazed up at his tall hero, "I told you and Jess I can do lots more than any of ya think. I can pull my own weight around here, if you'll only let me."

"You're dead-on, Mike. This concerns all of us," Slim led Mike over to the couch and pulled him into his lap. "You're growing up in front of our eyes but I still think of you as a yearling colt not quite ready for a saddle."

He ruffled Mike's hair and then smoothed it down, giving him a hug.

"Did you hear what I was telling Miss Daisy?"

Mike replied, "Only part of it. Jess was makin' too much noise with the skillets."

"Why, you little. . ." Jess threatened.

Everybody chuckled and Daisy felt the tension ease, even as the gale rattled window panes and fought to gain entry.

Repeating his words, Slim made sure Mike understood the seriousness of what their cattle were enduring as the blizzard continued to rage.

"Them beeves will keep tryin' to push forward, and the ones in the middle will smother to death in the press. They don't have the sense God gave a goose ta settle and wait for the wind and snow to die down," Jess added.

In a small voice Mike asked, "What can we do to rescue 'em?"

"Nothin' now, Mike," Jess answered, concerned at the worry he saw reflected in both Mike and Daisy's eyes. "We'll have to wait till the storm blows itself out before we can tackle headin' up to the high pastures."

Daisy held a hand to her throat. She knew Slim worried outside of all reason at times, taking everything, real and imagined, on his own broad shoulders, to shield the rest of his family. If Jess was anxious too, she knew there was real cause for alarm.

"How long do they have, Slim?" Daisy asked. She knew as well as the men their fortunes depended on the ornery critters Jess described as ' _steaks on the hoof'_.

"I'm not sure, Daisy. They could drift slow; hopefully the blizzard will blow itself out by morning. And they're further west. This storm blew up out of the west so it should stop snowing where the herd is before it clears out here at the house."

Jess put in, smiling, "It's late enough in the spring, the sun can be shining, the little birdies singin' and a nice breeze coolin' my brow by tomorrow." Jess flapped his arms like bird wings, making Mike laugh out loud while Daisy and Slim each grinned. His natural high spirits infected the others, only Slim realizing tension still rode hard across Jess's shoulders.

The ranchers convinced Mike to go to bed, Slim tucking him in, but leaving a lamp turned low to comfort the youngster.

Soon after, Daisy headed to bed as well, "I'll send up an extra prayer for sunshine and little birdies singing tomorrow," she told them, patting each on the arm as she gathered up her sewing basket and pin cushion.

Jess hugged her tight before opening her bedroom door. "It'll work out, Daisy, you'll see."

SR

Slim fretted all night. The fourth time he woke Jess from his own restless sleep, they both decided to move to the living room. They took turns feeding the fire, using up logs at an alarming rate to keep the cold at bay.

The friends alternated drinking coffee and scraping frost from the window to peer out at the snow whirling in a manic dance driven by the unrelenting wind.

Ever practical, Slim started gathering up supplies and tucking them into his saddle bags. He reached out his hand, "I'll fill up your matchbox with lucifers."

Fishing the small metal tin out of his vest pocket, Jess handed it over, "Get your sidearm and I'll clean it when I've finished mine. How long's it been since you fired your rifle?"

Slim glanced over his shoulder, "It's fine. Not been used in over a week."

Nodding, Jess efficiently stripped down Slim's bone-handled Colt and reassembled it. He dropped both revolvers into the holsters hung on the rack beside the front door and put his cleaning kit away.

Jess walked into the bedroom, returning with his saddlebags and both their bedrolls. "I got an extra pair of long johns. You better do the same."

"Yes, _sir_ , since when did you start thinkin' ahead?" Slim drawled.

"Since I learned to hate freezin' my butt off chasing critters," Jess retorted, looking anxiously at Miss Daisy's door while he lowered his voice to a hiss.

"I shoulda known," Slim grinned, "You're never gonna get used to these bracing winters, huh?"

"Is that whatcha call it? B _racin_ g? I'll _never_ get used to draggin' through drifts hip deep on a tall Injun."

Slim shook his head ruefully, but dutifully retrieved an extra set of long johns to tuck in his saddlebag.

SR Chapter 4

At dawn, sunshine did not stream through window or door; no birds were singing. There was only a lightening of the dreary, gray, low-lying clouds obscuring the horizon. But, in comparison to the icy wind and snow from the night before, it felt almost balmy as the men and Mike took care of outside chores while Daisy fixed breakfast.

Icicles began to drip as the morning wore on. Jess broke one off the edge of the porch and handed it to Mike to lick. By noon, the snow had become a mix of sleet and rain.

The two young cowboys were well aware of the hazards that could be waiting for them on their rescue mission. They had extra ropes, their bedrolls and both men's saddle bags bulged with tools and camping gear. Daisy had added coffee, meat sandwiches and thick oatmeal cookies in case they had to spend the night in the high reaches of the ranch.

Slim looped a woolen scarf around his Stetson and tied it under his chin. Jess had his scarf, a recent gift from Daisy, wound around his neck with the ends tucked under his collar. They both wore their heavy sheepskin coats, two pairs of socks, long johns, and to protect their legs from both cattle and the cold, their sturdiest chaps. Long yellow oiled-canvas rain slickers completed their outfits.

Jess's droll comment, "Slim, you look like an overstuffed canary," earned him a grimace and half-hearted swat from his boss. Slim knew Jess was trying to lighten the mood for those left at home and followed up with a smile and wink for Mike's benefit.

With many cautions urged on them by both Daisy and Mike, Jess and Slim took their leave with assurances they would be careful and would be home as quickly as they could.

SR

The barn and hill in front of the house protected them from the wind still gusting sporadically from the northwest, but once they reached the crest of the ridge, the wind's strength increased tenfold, cutting like a knife, straight in their faces. Traveller and Alamo dropped their heads and pushed on through new drifts. At the top of the next ridge, Slim caught up with Jess. As Slim started around him, Jess reached out to grab his arm.

"Remind me again why we're out here instead of warmin' our britches in front of the fire?"

"'Cause we're gonna use part of the profits from selling that prime stock to get a good stallion and about six mares."

"Oh, yeah," Jess nodded. "Well, your turn to break trail for a while and let's hurry so we can get back to the house." He waved Slim ahead.

When they got to the line fence, Slim pointed west; Jess agreed and reined his mount east.

SR

Jess rode east for almost an hour, nearly ready to give up and retrace his steps when he began to hear cattle lowing miserably. Following the fence, he found part of the herd bunched, the front-most pushed sideways, unable to move.

Jess dismounted and dug in his saddlebag for wire cutters. He snipped the bottom strand of barbed wire close to the nearest post. The wire sprang away from him, coiling into a spring, bouncing along the ground, dragging a furrow through the snow. As the individual cows and steers realized a human was near, their bawling multiplied and they began to shove harder against the leaders. Muttering, "It's 'devil wire' for sure," Jess shrugged out of his yellow rain slicker and draped it over the other two strands of fence to protect the lead cattle.

Tension eased on the second strand of barbed wire as Jess squeezed his cutters. It whipped backwards and tangled with the wire already on the ground.

Cattle surged against the single strand of the fence still intact. It snapped near the far pole and wrapped itself around Jess's leg, up his arm and across his chest in a thorny embrace. The end scraped Jess's cheek, laying it open and letting blood pour down his face.

Beeves pushed through the break in the fence, spinning Jess around. He fell beside the post, wrapped in the last strand of barbed wire. Cows, calves and steers continued to scramble through the opening, bawling and leaping as they scattered. Waving his hat and hand in their faces, yelling as they surged around him kept Jess from being trampled but did nothing to improve his opinion of bovines.

Jess gingerly clipped barbed wire and untangled himself bit by bit. He groaned, "Cows gotta be the dumbest critters on earth. No, Trav, make that the second dumbest. Cowboys are dumber than these walkin' steaks or I wouldn't be in this fix."

Finally free of the dangerous barbs, Jess threw his tools and the tiny sections of wire into his saddle bags. Blood still oozed down his cheek, dripping from his chin. He grabbed a handful of snow to clean the scratch and made a half-hearted swipe at his face with the ends of his scarf.

Pulling his torn, dirty slicker from the mud, Jess shook his head in disgust. He held it to the light and peered at the holes, "Looks like a load of buckshot peppered this poor thing. But it beats nuthin'." He draped the tattered slicker over his shoulders and shoved his arms through the ragged sleeves.

Jess scooped his hat from an icy puddle and beat it against his leg before plopping it on his head, tugging it down tight. Brushing ice from his saddle and Traveller's mane, Jess found himself wishing he had fur-lined mittens instead of his thin leather gloves.

Wincing as he put weight on his foot, Jess jerked the reins loose from the fence post, and tried his usual hop into the saddle, but his leg wouldn't support him. One of the steers had landed a hoof squarely on his left ankle, and Jess grumbled dire curses on the offending animal as he limped around to the off side of his patient mount.

Before Jess could swing into the saddle, Traveller began shifting his feet, dancing nervously, pawing the ground and tossing his head, alerting Jess something was wrong. The usually steady cowpony's ears pricked forward and the whites of his eyes were showing. Jess put a soothing hand on his horse's neck and crooned softly, "What is it, old fella? We're gonna meet up with Slim and head for the barn. You and Alamo both deserve some extra oats tonight."

Jess felt a heaviness in the air as the ground began to tremble beneath them. A low rumble, barely at the edge of hearing, was rolling in from the west. As the tremors grew stronger, Jess drew his revolver before grabbing the reins and pommel. He squinted over his horse's back into the gloom, searching the distance for a stampeding herd of cattle or buffalo; in his experience the only thing to account for the shuddering earth.

' _Whatever's goin' on, Slim's back that direction, and I'd bet a month's pay he's smack dab in the middle of it. Dadgum fool don't have sense enough to come in outta the rain.'_

Ice was glazing the ground, building up on every strand of wire and blade of grass, each tree limb and post, encasing the world around them in an icy prism. But, anxious to locate his best friend, Jess touched spurs to the horse's sides and urged him to move out as fast as conditions would allow, even though Traveller's iron-shod hooves occasionally slipped on the frozen ground. The tough little bay whinnied uneasily, but kept heading into the wind, trusting his rider's voice and body cues, that almost imperceptible grip of hands, knees and thighs, to keep him safe.


	2. Chapter 2

SR Chapter 5

The low muffled thunder had stopped and the ground no longer quaked under Traveller's feet, but ice crusting over fresh snow had slowed the gelding to a walk and he kept jerking his head around, attempting to reverse directions.

Never one to tolerate waiting, Jess grew more fretful as each interminable minute slowly crawled along his spine.

A foul odor began to permeate the air and the overriding gloom did nothing to lighten Jess's dread of what lay ahead. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as they approached the open gate where he and Slim had parted company.

Jess stared in amazement at boulders, ice and a jagged barren expanse of sludge stretching for over a hundred yards along the base of Choctaw Hill.

Stepping down from the saddle, Jess tied his reins to the gate. After caressing his old friend and murmuring soft nonsense to calm the anxious animal, Jess carefully walked closer to the chaotic rift.

Keeping a wary eye on the muddy water still trickling over the edge of the cliff, Jess's eyes traced where something large had scoured a path down the slipping earth to the bottom of the cut.

The churned mud revealed the imprint of a horse's hindquarters. Jess's nerves were already strung tight, his fears ratcheting to new heights with each step. He expected to find the remains of both pony and rider buried under tons of soil and rocks heaped at the base of the shattered rock face.

Inching closer, he could see where a horse, and he had no doubt it was Alamo, had rolled on his back, gouging the thick and slimy mud into crisscrossed ruts before gaining his feet. A rider had rolled clear, leaving deep furrows in the clay.

Whispering, "Slim," Jess, nervously glanced up to see if more of the cliff was disintegrating. He hurried closer to the avalanche and snatched up a half buried brown Stetson, plaid woolen scarf still tied around it.

Next to Slim's hat was one clear boot print with a second ragged one disappearing into a watery puddle. Nearby, two fingers of a single tan glove pointed toward the sky, others, streaked with rusty red curled into the muck.

Stooping down, Jess lightly placed his hand atop the outline of a bloody print. More hand prints and scuffed long scratches showed plain, at least to Jess, where Slim tumbled off his mount and stumbled, on foot, toward the south. Slim wasn't entombed under that torrent of boulders and mud. A grim smile graced Jess's lean face. He wouldn't be burying his best friend today.

Slim was headed home.

SR

Standing, Jess clutched the brim of his hat to keep the wind from snatching it from his head. He scanned the area, frowning, _'He must've been checkin' the top of the ridge for strays and got caught when the rocks gave way. He rode that mudslide like a buckin' bronc clear to the bottom!'_

It was all there for those who could read the story, laid out not in black and white but in muddy brown and dirty gray, with a trace of soft spring green. The brilliance of small ruby red dots hung like beads on an invisible thread.

Jess Harper might be short on book-learning but he was an expert at reading sign.

He stripped off his skin-tight leather glove and dipped the tips of his fingers in a drop of bright viscous fluid.

 _'_ _Blood is thick. Thicker than water and this is thicker than sorghum molasses. Been here a while.'_ He rubbed the dense, tacky substance between finger and thumb, then brought it to his nose. The coppery scent confirmed it was blood and not simply crimson liquid distilled from some unknown source. Jess turned, favoring his ankle. More drops shimmered on fresh snow but in the distance were already sinking beneath the onslaught of rain as the temperature warmed. He slowly wiped his fingers along his pants, staring at the crooked path broken through that crust of icy slush.

Slim's dragging footprints were mingled with Alamo's long strides. The frightened horse had lit out for safety, and his trail soon separated from Slim's winding path. But Jess was pleased to see the horse was running, not limping with an injured leg or worse. They would collect him along the way, or Mike could look after him if Alamo made it to the house before them. Jess limped back to his horse, mounted awkwardly and let his left leg dangle, not certain he could wedge his boot into the stirrup.

SR Chapter 6

Jess didn't dare stop even though he knew the gelding was exhausted. He patted the horse with a nearly numb hand, grateful his mount was still a willing partner. Traveller's head was bobbing and his mane was more white than black from the freezing rain.

To give his mount a break, Jess swung to the ground, his boots slipping on the icy ground. He hobbled slowly, breaking the trail. A wavering line of tracks stretched into the distance. Occasionally there was a long scar in the ice where Slim had crawled before gaining his feet again and more often a bloody print where he had put down a hand to steady himself. Jess shouted his partner's name, but the wind blew his words back at him; there was still too much gale for his voice to carry over it.

Jess was weary, the chill creeping deep into his bones. His hands and feet were numb except for the fire humming in his ankle and he was worried, both for himself and for Slim. They both knew Smudge had one hand stiffened into a claw, nearly useless from the effects of frostbite.

It wasn't a hard trail to follow. Slim had tripped over roots and rocks hidden under the mounded drifts, several times stretching his full length in the melting slush. Jess saw it was getting harder for his partner to get back on his feet after each fall. Slim had crawled to a small pine and used that to pull himself up; the broken limbs an open book for the experienced tracker.

SR

Not far ahead, a slow shiver crept through Slim Sherman's body. His boot had broken through the snow into a hole buried beneath. He went to his knees, letting out a yell as he sank into a sloppy snowbank.

Traveller's ears pricked forward and he nudged Jess's shoulder before taking a tentative step. "What'cha hear, boy? Thought I heard somethin' too." Jess patted the horse's neck and looped his reins around the horn, knowing the pony would follow.

The storm had partially filled a dry gully off to Jess's left and the rushing water drowned out all lesser sounds. Jess saw Slim before he heard him. Slim was shaking with cold, his panting breaths creating a frosty mist around his head and shoulders. He lay hatless in the snow, soaked strands of hair flat against his head and ice showering the parts of his face not protected by his hands. A low moan escaped Slim's chattering teeth as he struggled to turn over.

Jess rushed to Slim's side, using his slicker to shelter Slim's face from the rain. "Hold on, Pard," Jess directed, "I'll have you out of that hole in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Or maybe I should say a calf's tail since it's them ornery critters caused you and me to be up here."

Jess tried to sit him up, but Slim waved him off. "I can't sit straight, Jess. My ribs are bent or busted. I'll lean back here while you dig me out."

"Sure, Slim. Relax and let me do the diggin'." Jess used his hands and one of their camp plates to widen the hole enough to free Slim's leg. He tugged at Slim's boot until he got it off the injured cowboy and turned it upside down to drain out the rocks and mud.

"You look a little worse for wear, Pard," Jess scolded, sliding his hand gently over Slim's forehead, "Goose egg in your hairline and a bruise black as my hat on your cheek."

Slim, propped against Jess's knee, winced with every breath, his arms hugging his chest. He retorted, "You're not too pretty, yourself. Looks like you're wearing war paint."

Jess brushed the back of his hand across his face, "I'd forgotten about that. Barbed wire bit me when I cut the fence." He shrugged, "But you still get braggin' rights. Let's get you up on my horse and head to Baxter's Ridge for the night."

Pulling Slim to his feet, Jess leaned him against the horse and tied Slim's hat on with the checkered scarf before helping him mount. He started to lead his pony forward when a booming roar and crumbling bank scuttled Jess's plans. Wildly frothing water and swirling debris from upstream undercut the ledge where Jess stood. Traveller shied and leaped forward, carrying Slim to safety.

Adrenalin fueling his desperate effort, Jess threw himself headlong, hoping to grab some part of his horse's saddle or even his tail, but missed by a hair's breadth. His injured ankle gave out and flung Jess backwards. Rain soaked terrain plus a downhill slope guaranteed Jess lost his battle with gravity. He landed on his belly and slid down the increasingly steep incline.

Jess caught at bushes and saplings and rocks trying to stop his downward slide. One after another, they tore out of the loose scree until Jess finally got his arms wrapped around a narrow vertical outcropping. Both arms were nearly jerked out of their sockets at his abrupt halt, but the craggy stone held.

His feet scrabbling for purchase, Jess was able to wedge the toe of his boot into a notch in the cliff face. He hung in place, breath coming in spasms as his lungs labored to catch up. Jess dipped his head, forcing himself to wait until his breathing was under control and then looked up, expecting to see a long climb ahead of him. Amazingly, he was only about eight feet below the ridge where he had left Slim.

' _It just_ seemed _like hours I was slidin' into the jaws of Hell,'_ Jess thought miserably.

Slowly, Jess reached above his head to grab the nearest ledge and test his weight before trusting it to hold him. His right side moved easily, but when Jess tried to shift his left leg, a searing pain attacked him. He buckled with agony and cursed as his stomach threatened to empty itself.

Whimpering, Jess brought his hand down to see what was causing him such suffering. A stick with small sharp thorns surrounding it, had gotten caught under the strap holding his chaps around his hips and had scraped from below his waist and down his belly to sink itself in the inner muscle of his thigh. Despite the cold, Jess felt sweat trickle down his back, and a clammy dampness plaster his face. He swiped at his forehead and then felt for the stick again. Its roots were buried deep in the cliff.

Afterwards, Jess was never quite sure how he did it, but with desperation born of necessity, he twisted around to pull his knife out of his boot and sawed at the offending stub, pain forcing tears from his eyes and bile rising in his throat as he stubbornly attempted to free himself from the side of the bank. When he began to slip downward, and pain attacked anew, he slowed in his frenzied attack on the roots holding him prisoner in mid-air. Jess leaned his forehead into the cold rocks, panting hard and fast. He took a few slow, deep breaths to steady himself before he hacked through the final tough strands.

It became an endless climb. Jess's gloves were soon shredded and his palms full of gravel, his hands bruised and bleeding. He was exhausted and his lungs were burning from the cold. He knew he had only a short time before dusk would begin gaining on him.

During one of his short stops to rest, Jess glanced up. The weak and nearly shrouded sun was no longer balanced atop Baxter's Ridge, but was already slashed in half, sinking down behind murky clouds. _'Hurry up, Harper,'_ he chided himself, _'You need to get Slim to shelter. Baxter's Ridge is closer than the house; we can hunker down under the cliff.'_

The last two feet were a nightmare. Jess tried to pull himself up with one hand, but he couldn't let go long enough to throw an arm over the top of the bank; he had to inch his way, scraping his chest and belly over rough rocks and wet, chilling snow until he was halfway over the lip of the break, the branch still throbbing deep in his thigh.

SR

Jess lay on his back, exhausted and hurting from his rude descent and even worse climb out of the steep gully. Rain, cold and stinging, pelted his face. It forced him to turn on his side. He bent over to examine the long stem protruding from under his coat. Only the two top buttons remained on his jacket and all the toggles were ripped from his slicker. Lines of red stained his shirt, spreading into soggy streaks of pink as rain drenched the thin cotton.

His leg was still numb around the hole punched by the stick, but Jess knew it wouldn't last. He was afraid to try to pull it out. No tellin' how much blood would start pouring if that trunk was dislodged.

Dropping his head onto his arm, Jess thought furiously. His chaps held the stick in place, but it moved when he gripped it. He unbuckled his belt and bit by bit pulled it from the loops of his jeans. "Oh, God," he breathed as liquid fire ran through his side. Struggling to his knees, Jess used his belt to lash the stalk against his hip so it would not shift when he stood up. He took the scarf from around his neck and stuffed it behind and around the end of the branch to help wedge it in place.

There was a constant ache as the switch pushed deep against the muscle in Jess's thigh, but it wasn't the tortuous unrelenting pain he had endured as he climbed.

Rolling to his feet, Jess staggered to where Slim sat slumped over Traveller's neck. Using a stirrup for support, Jess's husky voice roused his friend, "Baxter's Ridge ain't too far and there's an overhang to get us outta this rain."

Slim was only half conscious but he still protested, "Let's ride double, Jess."

"No arguments, Slim. You don't need one of them bent ribs to jab a hole in your lung. I'll walk until I _have_ to rest, then we'll switch."

Reluctantly, Slim agreed but even in his dazed condition he silently vowed to keep an eye on his stubborn partner. He knew only too well Jess Harper's penchant for swearing _'I'm fine,'_ when all the time he was ready to fall on his face.

SR Chapter 7

Jess's world narrowed to a single thought: _keep moving_.

Automatically, he put one foot in front of the other, although he couldn't really feel his feet or hands any more. His nose and ears were numb too, his lashes and brows rimmed with ice. The branch buried in his leg felt like he was hauling a tree along with them, but Jess ignored the pangs which accompanied each excruciating step. The ache from his ankle had faded into the background; he had other things to worry about.

He was well versed in ignoring his physical ailments; many a time he had needed to keep going far past the point he should have collapsed. Until Slim, he was often alone, no one to care if he lived or died. He could and did put the pain of his injuries into a part of his mind where he could wall them off. Tough as rawhide, Jess Harper swore an oath to himself: Get Slim to safety or die trying.

 _Keep moving._

Each time Jess glanced around to check on Slim, he found his friend riding with eyes closed and head nodding, his body sinking closer to the bay's mane.

 _Keep moving._

Jess no longer tried to gauge the distance they needed to travel; no longer concentrated on their back trail and how far they'd come. He made sure he had the reins in his hand and trudged on. He could see the dim bulk of Baxter's Ridge through the shadowy mist created by falling rain and fog rising from the ground. ' _Keep moving, Harper. You're almost there.'_

Finally, Jess leaned over to place a hand on his knee. His left hand gripped the padded end of the branch which had become a flaming inferno. The pounding in his head was getting worse. He had to rest. A warm trickle of blood had been leaking from the wound in his leg for some time. The ache in his gut had spread to his leg and was no longer simply a twinge as he moved; that ache had become a full-fledged stabbing torment echoed by his bruised and swollen ankle.

"Is it time to switch, Pard?" Slim asked groggily. He straightened in the saddle where he had been slumped to favor his tender ribs. And head. And hands. And legs. Slim Sherman hurt all over, but he wasn't about to tell Jess.

"No, Slim. We're close. Wasn't as far as I thought," Jess rasped. "If you can stay in the saddle a few more minutes, I'll get my bedroll spread and you can lay down."

"Sure. . . . Want some help?"

"Nah, best help you can be is stay where you are till I get it ready and you won't have to move but once."

Slim nodded and tucked his chin back into his coat.

Tugging on the reins, Jess got them started again, not breaking a straight trail, but always forward.

SR

Making short work of fixing a windbreak, Jess wedged his ground cloth in place with rocks and wood, stretching the last length of it near where he intended to build a fire. Panting from his efforts, Jess dragged several branches close. "Good thing you filled up the matchboxes, Slim. I may need all them lucifers before I get a fire goin'."

Hands trembling as much from shock as cold, Jess struck three, four, five matches only to have wind steal the flame before his tinder could catch. Slim drug himself off the horse and used his hands to block the gusts till a ruddy ember began to smolder. They fed it sparingly until they had a good size fire blazing.

Between the two of them, they got Traveller unsaddled and the horse sidled under the overhang where the reflection from their fire was warming the rocks.

Jess turned his saddle upside down to provide a pillow for Slim and with little urging, he stretched out and let Jess cover him with a blanket.

Digging into his saddle bag for their granite-ware coffee pot, Jess scooped snow to fill it. He busied himself tucking hot stones close to Slim's feet. But his friend's body jerked as he continued to shiver uncontrollably.

A small poke of ground Arbuckle's and a blue bandanna folded around the lunch Daisy had packed joined a worn tin mug beside the fire ring.

Jess dragged over his saddlebags. He shook out his extra pair of long johns and pulled the knife from inside his boot. Jess cut off the arms and legs of the long-handles, slitting the legs from crotch to cuff and hacking one of the sleeves into four pieces.

"I've melted some snow. Think you can drink a little?" Jess asked.

Mumbling, "Yeah," Slim nodded slightly. Jess lifted Slim's shoulders and let him sip warm water until the cup was empty.

Wetting one of the sleeve sections, Jess wiped mud and dried blood from his best friend's battered face. More bruises and scrapes had showed up, making Slim look like he had tangled with a grizzly.

Slim was wheezing as he breathed, wincing each time he was forced to take a deep breath. He coughed, groaning as his chest was shaken with the force of the air driven from his lungs. He tried to sit up straighter, but that made his ribs dig into his side and gasping, Slim collapsed to the ground holding his arms tightly around himself.

"That ain't exactly the way I figured to set you up for doctorin'," Jess snapped. He darted an angry look at his partner, "It ain't possible to wrap your ribs up with you rollin' around on the ground like a bear scratchin' its butt."

"Sorry, Jess. My ribs are getting worse," Slim grimaced. He shifted trying to get comfortable.

"I know you're hurtin', Slim. . ."Jess said aloud and added to himself, ' _You ain't the only one._ ' He reached over and unfastened the toggles on Slim's slicker, then unbuttoned his heavy coat. "Your coats have to come off. Lay easy, let me do the lifting and then you can go to sleep."

Tightly gripping the muffler-wrapped thorn bush to be able to take a step, Jess moved behind Slim, slipping the coats from his partner's shoulders. He wrapped one long strip of cloth tightly around Slim's lower chest and tied it off.

"Maybe Indians have the right idea, Slim," Jess muttered, "Blood brothers. We ain't from the same parents, but we've spilled and cleaned up gallons of each other's blood."

Slim only nodded, concentrating on keeping still until Jess could finish up and let him lay back down.

The other long-john leg he wrapped higher on Slim's chest, pulling it snugly into place until Slim grunted. "I think that's tight enough, Jess. I can barely breathe now," he objected.

"That's a sign I got it fixed proper."

"Blood brothers, huh? Guess you'll do till something better comes along," Slim finally answered, as Jess dragged the saddle slightly forward and resettled Slim on the bedroll.

Slim raised his head, "You'll do in thick or thin, Jess," the seriousness in his voice contradicting his previous offhand words, "And Lord knows, we've had plenty of both."

"Ain't that the truth," Jess nodded.

Time to change the subject. Jess Harper always preferred his actions to speak for him; he would do almost anything for Slim Sherman or any of those he considered family.

But the torment tearing through his leg and the nagging ache in his ankle shoved charitable thoughts aside. ' _Slim needs to go to sleep_ now _so he don't realize how bad I'm feelin,'_ he thought peevishly.

"Your coat is damp. Do ya want to put it back on?"

"Lay it over me so I don't have to sit up again. And thanks, Jess. For everything."

"Sure, Pard," Jess was more than anxious to settle Slim for the night A cramp had stabbed through Jess's leg and his breath whistled through his teeth as he quickly tucked the heavy coat around Slim. He was asleep within minutes. Jess's hand rested lightly on Slim's shoulder until he felt the knotted muscles relax.

Shoving more branches into the fire, Jess scooped snow to fill the coffee pot and scooted it to the side to have water for morning.

Finally giving in, Jess fell back on the saddle blanket he had spread for his bed. Groaning with effort, drops of sweat beaded above his lips as hot gusts of pain swept through him.

Each breath he drew was becoming more difficult, more agonizing. He fumbled to loosen his belt. That allowed the stick to shift, sending spasms of molten fire down his hip to his knee. His heart stuttered in his chest, hammering in its efforts to endure the excruciating sting of thorns and deep injury inflicted on his abused muscles.

The pain became too much, even for Jess's iron will. His head rolled to one side as he passed out, his hand clutching futilely at the stub caught under the tie of his chaps.

SR Chapter 8

Sun shining in his eyes roused Slim Sherman from sleep. The memory of rocketing down a cliff astride Alamo flooded his mind. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Slim moaned as he tried to sit up, stiff and chilled from sleeping on the ground. Looking around, he found a thin plume of smoke rising from glowing coals. Wood was piled nearby, and he shifted to push some logs into the ashes, hoping they would catch without him having to move from where he lay.

More memories crowded in; his desperate struggle to get away from the break in the bluff before tumbling boulders and mud could crush him, waving his arms and yelling to scare off his already panicked mount. Then a frantic, mindless flight away from danger. . . away from the partner sure to come looking for him.

Turning his head, Slim saw a horse snuffling at something on the ground. He frowned, casting about for answers as to how he came to be at Baxter's Ridge with Jess's horse. Slowly, pictures formed in his mind of falling, his leg caught in a hole punched through the snow.

 _Jess_.

Jess had found him, dug him out.

Everything was fuzzy from that point, but if Jess had found him, there was no way his partner would have left him alone now. Slim raised himself on one elbow. He concentrated on the bundle of rags at the horse's feet.

"Jess!" Slim exclaimed. The bay gelding shied and Slim extended his arm, whispering to calm the nervous animal. Wrapping one arm around his ribs, Slim pushed to his feet and wavered over to the horse. He fondled the horse's velvety nose and scratched behind his ears before leading him to one side.

Grunting, Slim crouched and shook Jess's shoulder. If he was not playing possum, it would be the first time in Slim's memory anyone had sneaked up on him while on the trail. Getting no response, Slim caught Jess's jaw, his head lolling easily to the side. Slim was shocked at his best friend's pale face and sunken eyes, an angry looking scrape along one cheek. Jess never moved, barely drawing breath. Slim felt for a pulse in Jess's neck, finding it with little effort. Breathing a sigh of relief, Slim looked further for injuries, sure now that Jess was unconscious.

He threw back the yellow slicker and sheepskin coat, taking in wet splotches of blood on Jess's shirt. Eyes traveling down Jess's side, Slim saw a stick about two inches in diameter protruding from under his chaps, the end ragged and uneven. Sucking in a breath, understanding what had happened, even though he didn't know when, Slim sank to his knees. He wiped the sudden sweat from his forehead and tried to trace the path of the branch disappearing beneath Jess's chaps.

When Slim touched his leg, Jess muttered, "No," and squirmed away, striking at Slim's hands. "Easy, Jess," Slim answered, "I'm only trying to see what's happened, Pard." He wet a square of cloth, obviously from a Union suit, and wiped Jess's face and neck.

Jess's eyes fluttered open, the soot-dark lashes framing pain-filled blue eyes. He took in the fact Slim was beside him and then let his eyes slowly close. Slim wiped at his face again. He tapped Jess's jaw with his finger.

"Stay with me for a few minutes, Jess. Can you tell me what happened?"

Sighing, Jess answered haltingly, "Fell . . . slid down a bank . . . stuck a tree in my leg."

"I see the tree," Slim retorted, "Where, Jess? How did we get here?"

"You rode . . . I walked." Jess's voice grew stronger, "Baxter's Ridge had wood we'd piled up. Close. Outta rain."

He opened his eyes a slit, "Looks like you're feelin' better. But I ain't. Hurts like hell, Slim. I was afraid to pull the dadgum thing out. . . too much blood."

"Okay, Pard. Let's see what I can do to get you sorted out."

Slim swallowed hard. It took a lot for Jess Harper to admit to pain of any kind. For him to say he _hurt like hell_ and was _afraid_ in the same breath meant Jess must truly be suffering.

"I know this is going to hurt, Jess, but I've gotta see what damage that 'tree' has done you."

"Go ahead, Slim, I knew it was comin'."

Offering Jess a drink of water, which he refused, Slim slid a thin piece of wood between his partner's teeth. Slim unbuckled Jess's chaps from around his hips and slipped the ties at the backs of his legs, easing them down bit by bit. Other than one soft cry, Jess lay still with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Slim used his pocket knife to cut Jess's denims away from the entry wound. Freed from constraints, the stick shifted to one side and Jess gagged as a scream was dragged out of him.

"Sorry Pard, I've got to cut a little more." With trembling hands, Slim continued slicing the jeans from hip to knee. The thorny branch moved again. Jess's back arched and he fell back on the ground, white-faced and panting.

"Wait, Slim . . .can't stand no more. . .let me rest a minute."

"Sure, Pard. You tell me when. I've got to get this thing out of you."

Slim was aghast at the injuries inflicted by the spiny limb. He tried to keep up a good front for Jess, but a huge bruise covered Jess's leg from groin to knee. His thigh was lacerated in long, deep scratches and bits of the tips had broken off under the skin, digging in deeper and deeper, with long red streaks running the length of each cut.

Jess's left flank was burning; his leg felt as though it was on fire front to back and top to bottom. "Water," he croaked, the overwhelming blaze suddenly leaving him dry as a desert wind. Slim lifted Jess's shoulders and placed the cup against his lips, but Jess swallowed only a few drops before turning his head away. His stomach lurched and he swallowed convulsively to keep the liquid from coming back up.

Gently shaking his friend, Slim pleaded, "Jess, listen to me. Give in to the pain. Don't fight it. I'm right here. It might be easier if you aren't awake when I pull that thorn bush out of your leg."

Nodding, Jess pushed his upper body as far away from the offending stick as he could get. "Do it, Slim. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

With no warning, Slim jerked the branch out and threw it as far as he could fling it. Jess's guttural cry was muted only from sinking his teeth into his lower lip. Slim held pressure on the gash, but blood quickly soaked through the make-shift bandana and scarf compress. He wadded up the jeans he had cut off Jess, the coarse fabric hardly adequate to staunch the flow. Blood, dark and angry, overflowed the wound, welling up like some obscene fountain. Gore soaked the back of Jess's coat, then collected beside him and pooled in a hollow on the rocky, frozen ground.

Shaken, Slim wiped sweat from his face and pushed harder against his partner's yawning wound. The increased pressure caused Jess to writhe in agony, but still the flow did not stop. The already ill-used long johns were their last resort against slowly oozing dark blood and clear, yellowish fluid which brimmed to the surface of the gaping hole.

With a final moan, Jess sank down into unconsciousness and quieted under Slim's hands. Slim wiped spittle from his friend's mouth and straightened his limbs from their awkward sprawl.

It remained only to wait: Wait for Jess to stir and wait for his own hands to quit shaking.

Slim built up the fire. He made coffee, ate a cookie. He alternated sponging Jess's face with checking to see if the lesion had bled through. Slim finally dozed; exhausted by his own injuries and empathy for his friend. He wakened from shadowy dreams of having to cauterize Jess's wound, shrinking from the thought of inflicting more pain on the swollen, purple limb. How much more could Jess stand?

Smudged dark circles accented the skin beneath Jess's eyes. His cheekbones stood out in high relief. His lips were cracked and dry, swollen from having bitten through the bottom one. Gently, Slim dabbed a wet cloth across Jess's face, hoping this time he would wake.

Long shadows were snaking across the dirty, gray-tinged snow when Jess did move his hand. Slim quickly gripped Jess's shoulder, urging him to remain quiet. Jess's head was swimming. He felt as though he was staring down a narrow, dark gun barrel, Slim's face fading in and out. His whole left side ached and burned, a sudden throbbing jangled his nerves. He shuddered, writhing as excruciating pain shouldered through his defenses.

Slim propped him up and brought a canteen to his mouth. Jess gulped water and followed the canteen with his eyes as Slim moved it away.

"In a minute, Pard. Make sure that stays down first."

Too weak to object, Jess desperately wanted more to quench his dry throat.

"Jess, I've got everything packed up, except you. I want to get you home, the weather has turned warmer, but it might not last."

"Leave me here, Slim," Jess whispered, "Drag some firewood over, 'n bring back the wagon. . . . Don't think I can sit a horse." Slim brought the canteen close and let Jess quench his thirst a bit more.

"Nope," Slim shook his head, "We came together, we go home together. Would you leave me?"

He pointed his finger defiantly at his partner, "Don't bother to answer that, we both know the answer."

"You stubborn, lop-eared son of a jack rabbit!" Jess raged, his eyes flashing. But the usual effect of Jess Harper's temper vanished when his almost inaudible voice cracked on 'jack'.

Slim only grinned and informed his furious partner they would be riding double, since Traveller had rested all night and day. And when the sturdy bay was tired, Slim would be walking, not Jess.

Debating whether they were wise to set out this late in the afternoon, Slim made the last of his preparations for getting Jess mounted. The weather could yet turn, and they had seen the dangers of being caught in a blizzard, even the after effects of one. But the urge to head home and get Jess the medical help he so desperately needed was overwhelming and Slim gave in to it.

SR Chapter 9

The ride home was mostly uneventful; Jess slept or was unconscious the best part of the way. He fussed whenever he found breath and Slim found himself wishing his nagging partner would hush. He was tempted more than once to crack Jess on the head, but secretly was glad his best friend had strength enough to complain.

Mike and Daisy rushed to the pasture gate when they saw the riders top the hill. Alamo had come home late the evening before and they had both worried themselves to a nub since.

Mike opened the gate and Slim guided his tired horse through. Daisy twisted her hands in her apron, anxious for details, but knowing they had to get her injured boy inside before any questions could commence.

Wearily, Slim dismounted, holding Jess in place until he got both legs grounded. "I'll explain everything, as soon as we get Jess settled," he whispered hoarsely. He pulled Jess from the saddle, the injured man's head sagging into Slim's chest, Jess's limp arms and legs flopping with every step as Slim half-carried him into the house.

The sharp antiseptic smell of carbolic acid and lye soap met them at the door, making Slim cough. Daisy led the way, pushing the living room sofa closer to the fire. Slim sat Jess on the sofa and braced him with one hand, while he helped Daisy slip Jess's shredded slicker and sheepskin coat from his shoulders. Daisy guided Jess's head to the sofa as Slim dragged off Jess's boots and socks, both of them exclaiming over his bruised and swollen ankle.

Roused by the sudden warmth, Jess attempted to sit up. He groaned, folding into his injured side.

"Rest easy, Jess."

Jess struggled to focus his eyes, "That you, Daisy?"

"Yes, it's me," Daisy brushed a damp curl from his forehead, "You're home. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

Sighing, Jess fell back into darkness.

Relieved to have Daisy's nursing expertise at hand, Slim leaned against the wall and blew out a deep breath, one arm carefully cradling his ribs. He allowed his shoulders to slump.

Daisy directed a shrewd glance at him, "Why do you still have on _your_ coat, Slim?" she asked.

"Huh? I. . . uhhh. . . I'm fixin' to go back outside to look after Jess's horse," Slim replied hurriedly.

"Mike can take care of the horse. You take your coat off and sit down," she said brusquely, "While you tell me what happened to the two of you."

Slim hung his coat on the rack beside the front door along with his gunbelt.

"Both of you hurt," Daisy exclaimed in dismay when she saw the crude bandages wrapped around his chest. She hurried to the kitchen for a dish pan and the kettle of water she had been simmering all day.

Slim exhaled noisily, concentrating on his story, "The front edge of Choctaw Hill collapsed while I was up there looking for strays and I rode it to the bottom. Thank goodness Alamo had sense enough to come home to his own barn. I must have been about half loco and tried to run away from where the rocks and mud were spilling over the top of the bluff."

His eyes straying to where Jess lay still as death, Slim continued, "Jess followed me, found me with my leg stuck down in a hole. He dug me out, and put me up on our one horse. Somewhere along the way, he got a thorn bush stuck in his leg."

Pushing his hair back with a shaking hand, Slim's voice quavered, "I don't know how he did it, Daisy. He tightened his belt over the end of that stub and wadded up his muffler to keep it from shifting.

"It was May Apple. The thorns were thick as fleas on that stick. It got caught under Jess's chaps. Then ripped into him and wedged inside the big muscle of his thigh," Slim sighed, "He led Trav, with me riding, all the way to Baxter Ridge. Set up camp and tended to me. Never let on how bad he was hurt. Hell…sorry Daisy… I didn't even know he _was_ hurt until I had trouble waking him up the next mornin'."

Daisy paused for a moment before adding more medical instruments to the dishpan she had half filled with boiling water.

"Mother-die", she murmured.

Startled, Slim turned quickly, "Did you say he's gonna die?"

"No, Slim, that's the name we call it back in Ohio, _mother-die_. The real name I suppose is Hawthorne, but it's so widespread and causes such horrible wounds if animals or kids or accident-prone cowboys get tangled up in it. . . ." She trailed off and turned to look up into Slim's worried face.

"How hurt are _you_ , Slim?"

"Mine'll keep. See about Jess and then I'll get you to wrap my ribs. One may be broken, but I think the others are only bruised."

"Slim, can we carry him over to the table? When you two didn't make it back last night, I soaked it with carbolic and boiling water. Thought we might need it clean and ready to go. The light's better and you can hang a lantern overhead while I work."

"I'll get him, Daisy. My ribs have held out this long. . . ." Slim's voice trailed into a groan as his injuries made themselves known when he lifted Jess from the sofa.

Straining to move quickly, Slim deposited Jess on their dining table while Daisy's scissors began the ugly task of cutting Jess's muddy, wet and ragged clothes off of him. Spasms shot through Slim's chest and he slumped over the table, grunting loudly before he straightened up.

Daisy tutted to herself, gentle hands busy examining the obvious wounds and tracing the path of the Hawthorne bramble to Jess's still oozing gash.

After looking him over, reassured Jess's injuries could wait five more minutes while she examined Slim, Daisy ran her hands down his back and pressed on his shoulder blades.

Slim gasped but didn't move until Daisy's knowing hands kneaded ribs and pushed against his sternum. He flinched away and stifled a moan.

"Uh-huh. I thought so. You can't fool me. Over the years, I've seen every trick in the book."

"I wasn't trying to fool you, Daisy. I know you're too smart for me," Slim guilelessly agreed, "Just want to get Jess tended to first. Then I want to sleep for about two days."

When Daisy continued to stare at him, Slim insisted, "Let me help you with Jess and then I can rest too. He got hurt rescuing me, and he got the worst of it."

Returning to Jess, Daisy swiftly removed the bedraggled remnants of Jess's clothes. Slim sucked in his breath when he got his first good look at all the bruises and ripped skin dotted across his partner's chest and belly.

Slim turned anxious eyes to Daisy, "He will be all right, won't he?"

"I think so, Slim, Lord willing," she replied. "That boy seems to have nine lives although heaven alone knows how many he's already used up."


	3. Chapter 3

SR Chapter 10

Angry furrows tracked diagonally across Jess's torso, long scratches of dark red with thick yellow pus oozing to the surface. Black pointed thorns peppered each swollen, bruised streak, clawing their way deeper into the abused flesh on Jess's pale stomach; a cruel mosaic of dots and dashes punctuated russet lines of bloody calligraphy.

"I have to wash the gravel and mud off Jess's belly before I can begin to dig out the thorns. This will take a while. Why don't you let Mike help you find some supper and there's coffee on the stove. I'll call you if I need you. But you don't have to watch this, Slim."

Finally giving in to his weariness, Slim let Mike lead him to the kitchen and help fix a plate. True to his word, Mike did the biggest part of the preparations, sure now he could convince his guardians to let him stay home from school to look after the relay station while both men were laid up.

SR

Slim sat down to eat, but he didn't really taste anything. The coffee, black and hot, blazed a trail to his stomach and the strong brew revived him a little, but the food might as well have been sawdust.

Jess groaned, Daisy quietly shushing him as she washed muddy streaks from his ribs. The embedded gravel grated hollowly through the room as it dropped onto the table, outlining Jess's torso in little mountains of wet, muddy grit.

Slim's head dropped onto his chest and his breathing slowed. Mike took the fork from Slim's lax hand and moved the plate and cup away. Slim sat, shoulders and arms loose, his hands dropping to his lap as he fell deeper asleep, quiet for the first time since the tail-end of the late-season blizzard caught the Sherman Ranch in its crosshairs.

Her task complete, Daisy motioned with her head, "Mike, will you dump this water outside and rinse the pan clean before filling it for me again, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Mike answered quickly, "You want hot water, Aunt Daisy?"

"Yes, Mike, you know what to do. You're good help."

The youngster swelled with pride. Approval was not handed out willy-nilly at the Sherman Ranch, so he knew he had _earned_ Daisy's praise.

Daisy Cooper straightened, hands on hips, stretching to relieve the tenseness in her back. She glanced at Slim softly snoring, his face haggard in the ruddy glow from the fireplace. It was going to be a long night for all of them.

Slim was truly exhausted but he was quickly on his feet and ready to help when Daisy woke him.

As for Daisy herself, she hated to be the one inflicting pain on her much loved son, but it was the only way she knew to keep the barbs from digging ever deeper into Jess's battered muscles.

SR Chapter 11

Mike crept into the rocking chair near the fire, wrapping himself in the lap robe from the sofa. He couldn't see Jess from where he was curled, but he didn't have to. Each time Jess moaned or jerked, Slim shuddered and grimaced, unconsciously reacting to his injured partner's pain.

Quiet as a mouse, Mike sat long into the deepening dusk, finally falling asleep under the flickering lantern lights and rosy fireplace shadows dancing on the walls. Daisy and Slim spoke little, healers concentrating on an injured friend, a still life as old as time.

Using her sharpest scalpel, Daisy Cooper scored each long gash from end to end. Blood welled up and Slim wiped Jess's skin clean so Daisy could use her forceps and the blunt edge of the scalpel to lift the barbs free. Slim kept blotting blood from each slash to give Daisy a clear field to work. In the other hand, he held a strip of cloth for Daisy to wipe the offending spurs. As one cloth filled with blood or black thorn tips, Slim dropped it into a bucket and reached for another rag.

Daisy's steady rhythm faltered when Jess raised his hand to brush her away.

"Slim, you're going to have to hold his hands. I have a razor-edged scalpel and he doesn't need any more blood pouring out of him," she said sharply, using the back of her hand to wipe loose strands of hair out of her eyes.

"I know, Daisy," Slim answered tiredly. "He's not stirred much up till now, so I was trying to help you with the thorns as much as I could."

"I understand, dear, but I'm nearly where the stick punched into his leg and it's so sensitive the pain is close to waking him."

Straightening his own aching back, Slim crossed Jess's arms over his chest and held both Jess's hands in one of his.

"Daisy, his hands are still caked with gravel and mud," Slim exclaimed.

"Yes, we can clean his hands after I dig out as many of these thorns as I can. They're not in nearly as bad shape as the rest of him," Daisy motioned with her head, "Lay a cloth on his stomach to protect the wounds we've already cleaned."

"Yeah," Slim nodded.

He alternated wiping Daisy's brow and Jess's, lifting the soiled rag from Jess's stomach and supplying another, all the time keeping a tight hold on Jess's hands as he began to groan and buck beneath Daisy's assault.

She finally reached the wicked-looking hole still oozing pus and blood on the inner reaches of Jess's thigh. Sighing, Daisy locked eyes with Slim, knowing worse was yet to come. Taking a clean rag, Daisy wiped the area around the injury, and began plucking black tips out of the periphery of the wound as quickly as she could. Jess sat halfway up and struggled to free his hands from Slim's grip.

"Slim, quit," Jess pleaded in a ragged whisper.

Daisy placed her hand on Jess's forehead and lightly brushed back the unruly sweat-soaked curls. "Shhh, Jess, you're home. We'll have you fixed up before you can say 'Jack Robinson'. You go on back to sleep. Can I get you a drink of water, or something stronger?"

Jess turned his head and fought to make his eyes focus on Daisy's kindly face. "Whiskey?" he muttered slowly.

"Yes, I think this calls for a little medicinal spirits," she quickly answered.

Daisy half-filled a tea cup with rye whiskey and held it to Jess's lips. He grimaced as she slowly trickled the strong liquor into his mouth and let the alcohol do its work to tumble him down into sleep once more.

Slim had watched, still keeping a grip on Jess's hands. "When we get Jess to bed, do you suppose I could have some of the medicinal spirits, too," he asked plaintively.

"You and me both, Slim," Daisy agreed, "You and me both."

SR Chapter 12

A never-ending routine of pierce, slice, and lift. Daisy had been at her task for hours, but most of the cruel black thorns were finally removed. Straightening her back one last time, Daisy dropped her instruments in the now cool water.

"One more thing, Slim, before you can go to bed," Daisy said, "This is going to be the worst yet, but it has to be done, or his fever will be raging before morning."

Nodding, Slim dropped the last bloody bandage into the pail holding all the other soiled strips they had used to soak up blood and swab Hawthorne barbs as they were drawn out of Jess's lacerations.

"I know I haven't gotten every single thorn out, and those left will fester, but I got most of them, and lancing the scratches will let the alcohol get down into the bottom of each cut."

Taking a deep breath, Daisy poured whiskey on a towel and waited for Slim to move to the head of the table. He pulled Jess's hands over his head and held them tightly.

"Go ahead. Waiting won't make it any easier."

Daisy took a step forward and began blotting the alcohol soaked towel along each gash. As soon as the stinging, biting antiseptic penetrated Jess's consciousness, Slim had a struggle on his hands to keep Jess from rolling off the table. Daisy resorted to splashing the liquor on his stomach and using the towel to spread it. Jess subsided into whimpers, begging them to stop. A blazing inferno had awakened the nerves of Jess's belly and leg. The barrage of stinging liquid on inflamed tissue accelerated until Jess went limp once more. They hurried to complete their task and bandage the hole.

"Do you think you should stitch where the stub gouged him?" Slim asked.

"No, we found during the war a penetrating wound heals better and faster if left open," Daisy replied, "With less chance of infection. And I can get to his wound to soak it again when all the little barbs I missed start festering."

SR

Slim tucked Mike into bed, and then tried to pick Jess up one last time to carry him to his bed. But every man has his limit; Slim's chest exploded with pain. Daisy was quick to see he was at the end of his rope. She suggested they place Jess on a sheet and between the two of them they got him to his bunk.

"Should I sit up with him, Daisy?"

"I don't think so, Slim. I hope he's going to be out like a light until morning. If you hear him, call me and I can try to get some more whiskey down him. The thing he needs most right now is rest."

Nodding, Slim sat on the side of his own bunk and reached for a boot. They were wet and cold and he felt as though he had been wearing stovepipes on his feet for days. Daisy had slipped out of the room, returning with a coal oil lamp turned down low. In her other hand was the whiskey bottle with the handles of two teacups swinging on her thumb.

Slim relieved her of the lamp, placing it on the table beside his bed. Daisy thrust a cup toward him and pulled the cork out of the bottle with her teeth.

Grinning, Slim held out his teacup while Daisy splashed a generous shot into first his and then hers. They clinked cups together in an impromptu toast, "Bottoms up, Slim! We both deserve 'a bit of a dram' as my Da used to say."

Sighing, Slim could feel the alcohol travel from his stomach to his brain before slowly making its way to his suddenly heavy arms and legs. He slurred, "Re-do my bandages in the morning, Daisy. I'm too tired to do it now." He stretched out on his bunk and never knew when Daisy pulled the quilts up.

Turning to Jess, she smoothed the covers gently over her second son. He had slipped into a deep, uneasy sleep, occasionally tossing his head and muttering incoherently.

She hummed a few comforting words while she patted his shoulder. "Sleep, Jess," Daisy crooned, "You're going to be fine."

Silently, she added to herself, _'I do wonder though, how many of those nine lives you've used up.'_

SR Chapter 13

For almost a fortnight Slim and Daisy traded nursing duties and for over a week, Jess Harper wandered in a delirium of searching for Slim and keeping him safe, of pulling himself to the top of the draw where he had toppled over, and an almost constant mantra of _"Keep going, gotta. . .gotta save Slim."_ Sometimes it was shouted, sometimes a whisper, but single-minded and determined, Jess strove to rescue Slim Sherman, friend and confidante; his savior, had he been left to his gunslinger ways, from a daily threat of death.

It took both Slim and Daisy to lance the festering lines of unrecovered thorns and their husks. The putrid odor of sickness was overridden by the whiskey they splashed on the newly opened wounds; but alcohol dashed on open sores blazed with fury and left Jess writhing on the sodden mattress, sobbing in pain.

One day Daisy left the bedroom with tears streaming down her cheeks. Slim hugged her close and let her cry herself out.

"Slim, I don't know how many more times I can bear to put Jess through this agony. It's been over a week and I'm still finding thorns coming to the surface along with the infection."

"I know, Daisy. I shudder whenever we find another section of his leg or belly swollen," Slim agreed.

"But I don't know any other way to clean out the scrapes and it has to be done or Jess could lose his leg. . . or even his life." Daisy confirmed for them both the necessity of continuing their cruel care.

Slim, deep in the darkness, through the ebbing hours of each restless night, would doze until Jess's thrashing and mutterings woke him for another round of soothing his best friend. Slim heard confessions from the private and taciturn cowboy which revealed the deep commitment Jess had made to first Andy and Jonesy, and now to Daisy and Mike. And the fierce loyalty Jess felt toward Slim for being offered a home and a family. Confidences Slim might eventually share with his best friend, but it would have to be late at night after a few "medicinal" drinks, or sitting in the darkness where neither could see the other's face.

SR

Early one warm afternoon, Daisy was wiping the sticky fever sweat from Jess's arms and chest when she realized his eyes were open. He was staring glassy-eyed at her, slowly blinking the cobwebs away. The hint of a smile turned up the corners of his cracked, dry lips.

"Oh, Jess! You're awake," Daisy exclaimed, clasping his hand between hers.

Sighing, Jess closed his eyes and sank into a natural, healing sleep, untouched by hallucinations or the strange fantasies where he had roamed for nearly eight days.

Daisy rushed outside to tell the others, both hard at work trying to catch up on neglected chores, "Slim, Mike, Jess's fever has broken. I think he's turned a corner and we'll see him resting easy now."

SR

Daisy's prediction was mostly true, but there were still days, and especially nights, where Jess's fever climbed again, leaving him wringing wet and moaning, struggling against Slim's strong grip. But that unbridled stubborn streak and indomitable will made the times when Jess was lucid grow longer and the delusions shorter. The night finally came when Slim was able to lie down in his own bed and sleep until daybreak. That same morning Jess declared he wanted to get up for breakfast because he was wasting away from Daisy's meager rations and no coffee.

SR

As Jess grew stronger, Mike had taken to curling up on the corner of Jess's bunk and reading to him from his McGuffy's Reader or one of their treasured books. At first Jess lay with his arm over his eyes and let Mike's words wash over him. After a few days, his natural curiosity got the better of him and he pulled himself up, pillows stuffed behind his back, and plied Mike with questions about the stories or poems he read. They both particularly liked "Hiawatha" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Jess had Mike read "The Song of Hiawatha" so many times they both memorized the poem and alternated lines or verses, much to the delight, at first, of Daisy and Slim lurking outside the bedroom door. After days of hearing,

"On the shores of Gitche-Gumee

By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,

Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis."

In Mike's high-pitched little boy voice followed by Jess's baritone,

"Dark behind it rose the forest,

Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,

Rose the firs with cones upon them;

Bright before it beat the water,

Beat the clear and sunny water,

Beat the shining Big-sea-Water."

When Jess began calling Mike his "Little Owlet", as Nokomis nick-named Hiawatha, Daisy intervened to insist Mike learn to recite "The Village Blacksmith" for some relief.

Slim rummaged in the barn for an old pair of crutches and cleaned them up for Jess to use. The day Jess staggered to the outhouse by himself was a cause for celebration. He had to be helped back into the house, but sitting at the kitchen table without being bundled back into his bunk, made any embarrassment worth it.

SR Chapter 14

Finally begging for mercy, Jess appealed to Slim, "Daisy's acting like a mother hen with one chick. Can't you send her to Laramie for supplies or something?"

"Better you than me, Hotshot," Slim fired back, "When she's not hovering over you she's hell bent to re-wrap my ribs. They've got permanent ridges where she pulls the bandages so tight."

Jess snorted and shook his head, "I finally remembered wrapping you up in my long johns. You was complainin' about 'em being too tight then."

"Yeah, I must have been a sight when I got back here with long strips of pink over top of my shirt. You should have seen Mike's eyes when he came in from tending the animals."

They shared a laugh, sitting companionably on the front porch, watching Mike bring the cows in for milking.

"Is Mike gettin' all the chores he wants now I'm laid up?"

"Yeah, and then some. He's fallen asleep at supper a few times he was so tired. But he hasn't complained even once."

Jess chuckled and shifted the pillow under his leg. "That boy sure does hate school, but dad gum, he's got to learn to read and cipher. This old world is changin' too fast to let him grow up wild as a buck."

"I told Daisy about Mike wanting to pretend to go to school and circle back to work on the ranch. While you've been lazin' around, we've had him doing some of the stage line books."

Ignoring Slim's jab, Jess swiveled his head sharply, "How's that been going?"

Daisy answered from the doorway, "I think Mike now sees the importance of knowing his sums and how to record a readable ledger line."

Shaking his head, Slim chuckled, "He may never _like_ school, but I think he knows the value of being able to read and count beyond his fingers and toes."

"And is that why, Daisy, you've been having Mike keep me entertained?" Suspiciously, Jess narrowed his eyes, "I wondered why he was suddenly readin' to me from his primer ever' afternoon."

Laughing, Daisy answered, "Yes, you've found us out, but you played into our plans too."

"How could I? This is the first I've heard of it," Jess exclaimed.

"When you made Mike explain what he read. He had to think about the meaning of the story, not only the words. That's been good training for both of you."

"Yeah, Pard," added Slim with a wink at Daisy, "It's your turn to record the stage line invoices next week."

"Me?" Jess squeaked, inspecting his palms, "Don't know about that, Pard. I'm still feelin' awful poorly. And my hands are real sore and I need to shift my leg around real often."

"Your hands are healed enough you can hold a coffee cup, Pard, and it's heavier than a pencil," Slim pointed out.

Daisy's laughter was infectious and wincing, one hand bracing his sore ribs, Slim joined in. Jess sat in stony silence, staring straight ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

SR Chapter 15

Slowly but surely, Jess improved. By the middle of the fifth week after his abrupt slide into the gully he was able to place his left foot on the floor occasionally instead of hopping on his right whenever he tried to walk. His ankle had gone through a rainbow of colors and was showing the greens and purples of a healing bruise. But Jess was not above taking advantage of his disabilities to wrangle an extra piece of pie or the last breakfast pancake, grinning at Slim when Daisy's back was turned. There was sure to be pay-back, but it was too good an opportunity to let go by.

Jess could manage his own shirt, but pulling on boots and jeans remained beyond his strength-and the length of his arms-since he still could not bend his left leg or lift it high enough to get dressed by himself. Instead of struggling to put on boots, most of the time, he wore a pair of socks with no shoes.

"Slim! Slim! Where are you?" Jess shouted. Muttering under his breath, he railed against his own limitations and his partner's lack of consideration, "Been three dad-gum weeks. You'd think Slim would know by now to help me before he goes gallivanting around outside. But no, he's out in the sunshine and fresh air while I sit here half naked."

Daisy poked her head around the corner, "Do you need something, Jess?" she asked sweetly. She knew exactly what had him riled, but decided to make him ashamed of himself by pouring on her sympathy.

Jess jerked the quilt over his legs, "No, I was wondering where Slim is or when he can help me get dressed."

Coming further into the room, Daisy offered, "I'll help you get dressed. Slim had to go up to the top of the home pasture to get a team for a 'Special' this morning. That threw him behind in his regular chores, even though Mike tries. It's not like you being there, Jess, to take up the slack."

Jess looked contrite, which was exactly the reaction Daisy was hoping for. "Umm. . .if you don't mind, I could use some help with these dad-gum jeans, Daisy."

He clutched the quilt in place protecting his dignity, even though they both knew he didn't have anything Daisy hadn't seen while he was delirious.

Daisy pulled the jeans as high as Jess allowed and worked a pair of clean socks over his feet. Struck by sudden inspiration, Daisy exclaimed, "Jess, I remember seeing a pair of moccasins under your bed the last time I swept under there. Wouldn't they be easy to slip on? You can get them on yourself."

Grinning widely, Jess beamed, happy as a lark, "Perfect, ma'am, just perfect! You're smarter 'n Slim 'n me put together. I can get my own feet in 'em and not have to ask anybody for help."

Jess, ensconced on the living room sofa, proudly showed off his new finery when Slim finally came in for breakfast.

"Pard, I got dressed, with Daisy's help, so you won't have to stop your chores ever' mornin' to get my britches on me. I know you've waited on me hand and foot, but you're bound to be tired of haulin' me around ever' day."

Slim nodded, knowing Jess hated to have to ask anyone for help, especially with something as simple as pulling on his clothes.

"I don't mind, Jess, but I _was_ getting a mite tired of you wearing that same shirt every day."

Handing Slim his empty cup, Jess countered, "Ain't the same shirt; I just got three the same color." Slim cuffed his irrepressible partner and went looking for coffee for the two of them.

SR Chapter 16

Early one morning, Minerva Halverson's youngest son, seven-year-old Lane, came tearing into the Sherman ranch yard.

Flinging himself off his mule, Lane was hollering before his feet hit the ground, "Miz Daisy, Miz Daisy, Mam says to come as quick as ever you kin."

Hearing the commotion, Mike stuck his head out of the barn, "Lane, Aunt Daisy's in the house. She ain't gonna hear you way out here."

Grabbing the younger boy by the arm, Mike dragged him to the kitchen door.

Both boys tumbled inside when Daisy suddenly opened the door.

Through hiccups and tears, Lane blurted, "Pap was haulin' hay outta th' loft when the tackle broke an' he fell. That big ole block and tackle knocked him in the head afterin' he hit the ground and Mam sez you should come quick as ever you kin. She don't know what else ta do fer 'im."

Daisy whipped off her apron and reached for her shawl. "Mike, you and Lane harness the horses to the wagon and we'll leave as fast as I can get my medical bag and some bandages."

Turning, she spied Jess sitting at the kitchen table.

"Oh, and get Jess settled for the day. Go on now, scoot. We've got to hurry."

"Go, Daisy, and take Mike with you. He can drive the team as good as I can, so if you need to send for Doc Slater, he can ride to town while you look after Zion Halverson. Tie Lane's mule to the back of the wagon with Mike's pony."

"But what about you, Jess. We haven't left you by yourself since the accident and you're barely getting around with crutches."

"I'll be fine. I've got everything I need right here," Jess told her calmly, "I'll pack up some cookies for the boys to eat on the way to the Halversons while you get your medical supplies."

Jess stood and worked his way around the table, hopped to the sink and pulled a clean feed sack from under the counter. Another few steps holding on to the sink and he could reach the cookie jar. He opened the drawer of the kitchen hutch and pulled out a large red and white checked napkin to wrap up the cookies.

Daisy complied, returning to drop bandages and scissors and her black medical bag into the feed sack Jess held open. He had filled a canteen with fresh water and handed it to her along with a quick hug. She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder as she went out the front door.

"Don't worry. Slim will be home for dinner. His belly will lead him straight to the hitchin' rail. _He_ can cowboy-sit this afternoon," Jess laughed.

SR

Jess washed the breakfast dishes and made fresh coffee, his bad leg supported by one of his crutches. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he mused, ' _I'll peel potatoes for supper and maybe some apples. Then have another cup of coffee and take a nap_.'

The paring knife Jess used was dull, so he busied himself sharpening all Daisy's butcher knives on their small whetstone. He filled the teakettle, straightened the chairs around the table, took Slim's jacket to the bedroom and set Mike's barn boots by the kitchen door. Glancing down at the nearly empty wood box, Jess decided he would split kindling for the cook stove.

 _'_ _I can sit down and do that. Beats sleepin' the day away.'_

Using a convenient log for a stool, Jess split big logs into kindling and stuffed small branches into an old keg until it wouldn't hold anymore. Traveller had seen Jess when he came outside; he nickered and tossed his head, pawing the ground to get his human's attention. Jess had called to his old comrade, but kept on with his chore until the keg was full.

Now, driving his hatchet into a log and dusting off the seat of his jeans, Jess decided to take himself and his crutches to the barn corral to see his horse. He grabbed a handful of sugar cubes, an apple from the bin, and then slowly worked his way across the barn lot.

Jess spent an enjoyable quarter hour scratching his horse and feeding him bits of apple while Traveller nuzzled Jess's pockets and searched for more treats.

Laying his forehead against the bay's muzzle, Jess murmured, "Thanks, old boy, you got Slim and me both home. And I ain't about to forget that, neither." As though he understood every word, the bay nodded his head and stamped his front hooves, earning a chuckle from Jess. He gave Trav one last pat, raising a small cloud of hair and dust, and headed to the front porch.

Using the tip of a crutch to urge hens out of his path, Jess was eyeing the distance he had left to go, realizing he was more tired than he cared to admit, when all hell broke loose.

A stage rumbled down the hill from Cheyenne.

Slim loped in from the front ridge, leaning down to open the gate without dismounting.

Mike drove the buckboard into the yard from the Laramie side.

A chicken hawk plummeted from overhead, hens scattering underfoot to avoid the predator.

Jess lost his balance when he ducked to avoid the low-flying marauder. One crutch flew through the air as the other skidded in the dirt and pitched Jess onto his bad leg.

"Ah, Hell!" Jess groaned, "Daisy will never leave me by myself for a second now. And Slim is gonna kill me if I've started that leg bleeding again."

He looked down to see a slowly spreading red streak discoloring his jeans.

Slim got to Jess first. "Hi, Pard," Jess exclaimed, rolling to his back in the dusty barn lot, a toothy grin hiding a pain-filled grimace, "I can explain. It ain't what it looks like, honest."

Slim pursed his mouth like he had been sucking on a lemon, "Uh, huh. That's what you always say."

Retrieving the crutches, Slim told Jess, "If I wasn't so thankful you can track bees in a blizzard, I swear I would drop you down that old well out back."

Jess answered with a weak grin and motioned for Slim to help him to his feet. One step and Jess's left leg buckled. Slim grabbed Jess's belt and more or less carried him into the house.

SR Chapter 17

Taking note of where Slim had deposited him on the living room sofa, Jess complained, "Why'd ya drop me in here? Take me on to my bunk, Slim."

"Nothin' doing, Jess. Daisy needs light to see to work on your leg. You may end up strapped to the kitchen table before she's done."

"Aww, can't be that bad. Splash some whiskey over it and slap a bandage on that cavern in my leg, and I'll be good as new." Jess twisted from side to side trying to find some position to ease his new bruises.

"Schure, Pard," Slim answered, "Keep on believin' that. You haven't seen it like I have."

Thankfully it wasn't as bad as they all feared, but Jess's dignity took another beating before Daisy got the bleeding stopped and a clean bandage over his wound.

"I can't turn my back on you boys for one minute without you getting into some kind of scrape," she fussed, "You assured me, Jess Harper, you would take care of yourself while I was gone."

"I'm sorry, Daisy. And Slim and Mike too. I know you've all been wearin' yourselves out lookin' after me. But. . .I really didn't mean to go gettin' myself all banged up again."

Jess hung his head, mischieviously looking up at them through a thick fringe of lashes, "'Sides, I straightened up the house, filled the wood box, split extra kindlin' and then went out to see my ole horse for a minute. That's all."

He shrugged, "Ain't my fault that dad burn chicken hawk decided to have supper off our layin' hens."

Knowing that was more than his usual apology for getting in another jam, Daisy answered, "Well, you _have_ to be more careful. I think another week, or maybe two of staying in the house, will help you remember that."

"Two weeks," Jess howled, "Ain't that about ten days too long?"

"No, Jess, sounds about right to me," Daisy confirmed, "I might let Slim help you to the front porch after a week."

Jess stuck out his bottom lip, pouting, but certain sure Daisy would not let up on him or shorten his sentence.

"Are you going to listen after this, Jess?" Daisy demanded.

Grinning, Slim doubled up his fist, "I can take care of it if he doesn't, Daisy."

She immediately came to Jess's defense, "Slim Sherman, don't you dare. Jess has enough injuries without you giving him a concussion on top of it."

"Aww, Aunt Daisy, Slim was only funnin'," Mike chimed in brightly, "He wouldn't really hit Jess; least not till Jess is well enough to hit back."

"That's right, Tiger! Jess has to be able to defend himself before I whup him fair and square," Slim confirmed, "But if he doesn't do what Daisy tells him. . ."

The two of them, man and boy, nodded, one quick dip of their heads, proud of their conclusions.

Outnumbered and out-maneuvered, Jess gave in, not very gracefully, but he knew any wayward actions on his part would have all of them pouncing on him.

Looking on the bright side, two more weeks wasn't the end of the world. It was just gonna seem like it.

SR Chapter 18

Jess's incarceration began with four days of rain, so he didn't balk at having to stay inside; he hated working in damp clothes and leaky boots. But when the next week brought an unexpected hot spell, he complained bitterly about not being allowed to sit outside where ". . . at least there's a breath of air".

Daisy relented to the point of letting Jess shell a dishpan of peas on the front porch. Slim's arrival didn't help matters, nor did dumping the shelled peas all over the front porch when Jess attempted to stand up and do battle with his sniggering friend. Hens came running from all over the yard to share the bounty of peas, while Sim laughed louder and Jess shooed chickens away with his crutches.

"Pard, scattering poultry out of your way is what got you in your current state. I'd say you've run 'a-fowl' of Daisy again," Slim laughed.

"You're just a barrel of laughs, _Pard_ ," Jess said through gritted teeth, "Shut up and help me pick up the peas before Daisy finds out."

"Too late, Jess," answered Daisy, "I heard the commotion and came out to see what's going on."

"It was an accident for sure, Daisy. And it's all Slim's fault anyway."

"My fault! How do you figure that?" Slim demanded.

"Yeah, your fault. If you hadn't laughed, I'd still be shellin' peas."

Hoots of laughter from both Slim and Daisy dispersed the hens, but Jess only scowled and sullenly returned to hulling peas.

Jess's bad mood continued all afternoon and through supper. The unseasonable weather did nothing to improve any of the Sherman household's dispositions. Daisy, her cheeks bright red from the warmth, had decreed they would be having leftovers for supper since it was too hot to keep the cook stove going all day.

SR

Slim raised the cabin windows and propped the front door open a crack to catch any breeze that might spring up during the night. Mike and Daisy went on to sleep, but Jess and Slim both tossed and turned in the sweltering heat.

Slim finally whispered, "Are you awake?"

Jess immediately replied, "Yeah, too danged hot to sleep in this oven."

"Slip on your pants, and lets go sit on the porch for a while. Maybe it's cooler out there."

Not needing to be asked twice, Jess grabbed for his jeans. Slim held him steady until they got to the front door and Jess could take hold of the railing to lower himself into a chair. Slim disappeared back into the house but soon re-appeared with the coffee pot and two cups.

He poured half a cup for each of them and reaching into his back pocket, brought out the "medicinal spirits" kept for just such emergencies.

Splashing a generous helping into each cup, Slim handed one to Jess and taking the other, announced, "Bottoms up, Pard! I think we both deserve a 'bit of a dram' as Daisy's Da would say."

Slim settled into another of the porch chairs, tilting it against the wall on two legs. Relaxing, he told Jess the story of how he and Daisy celebrated with a drink once Jess was patched up the night they returned from Baxter's Ridge.

After a few more cups of coffee laced with whiskey, Slim broached the subject of Jess's delirium and hallucinations.

"Jess, I know you don't remember any of what I'm about to tell you; you were pretty far gone with fever and that infection in your leg."

"Then why bring it up? I was outta my head is what you're sayin'. So I wasn't responsible for anything I said anyway."

"Sometimes the real truth comes out in a situation like you were in," Slim answered.

Irritably, Jess replied, "Yeah, and sometimes it don't." He began to twist and turn in his chair, apprehensive about what Slim was going to say next.

"Well, in this case, I _know_ it was truths you would never speak out loud in your right mind. But I also want you to know the commitment goes both ways. Andy was first to see what a good friend you could become and I'll be forever grateful to him for that. And forever grateful to you for calming down the boy's wanderlust until he could grow beyond a tadpole. Andy was about ready to light out on his own, and Jonesy or me either one might never have seen hide nor hair of him again. Now Andy is well on his way to becoming an educated man, one who can do or be anything he wants. If he decides to come back to Wyoming after he graduates, all well and good. But if he scratches that itch to travel, at least I . . . we . . . know he won't be riding alone through the Big Open or taking the Owl Hoot trail."

"Just what exactly did I spout off about," Jess demanded.

"How much Andy and Jonesy meant to you. How much you think of Jonesy and his advice. He usually hit the nail on the head even if you or me didn't want to admit it."

Jess nodded; all that was true. He had never felt he had to say anything out loud for Jonesy to know how much he respected him and how he took Jonesy's scolding to heart or listened to his sage words of warning.

"What else? You wouldn't a brought anything up if that was all I said."

"You talked about Mike-and Daisy, too-more than once."

Jess squirmed in his seat. ' _Why can't I keep my big trap shut? I put my foot in my mouth even when I don't remember nothin' about it.'_

"I don't think Mike would be here if _you_ weren't, Jess," Slim confessed. "Nor Daisy either. There's no way the judge would have let me raise a stripling kid alone. I was overworked and permanently behind before you trespassed on Sherman land." He chuckled aloud, "We were both strutting around like bull elks up at the lake that day, huh?"

Jess joined in Slim's laughter. He offered his cup for a refill. "Leave off the coffee this time."

They clinked cups and sat in comfortable silence for the time it took to drain their whiskey.

Jess cleared his throat, "You're a responsible citizen and landowner, Slim. Mort would have vouched for you and the judge would probably have cut you some slack too."

"I don't know, Jess. With no one here except me, this ranch wouldn't look anything like it does now. I couldn't keep up with everything before you came, with Jonesy and Andy here to help. With them both in St. Louis, I would have probably lost the Overland contract because the place would have gotten so run-down."

Slim glanced at his friend, and continued, "You never give yourself enough credit, Pard. You skip out on chores when you can, just like I do. But you're a top hand and besides that, I never have to wonder if my back is covered."

"Yeah, just make sure you remember those words next time you're stripping the hide off me for sneaking off fishing before the work's all done," Jess retorted.

The flash of heat Jess was feeling was something more than the oppressive weather. He was thankful Slim couldn't see the blush which had spread across his face and neck.

"Is there more?"

"Yeah," Slim replied, "You seem to think you've done something wrong, Jess. But saying how much you think of someone is not a bad thing. It's just not what Jess Harper usually does."

"I've been kicked in the teeth or cracked over the head and disappointed by several I thought were friends. . .trail partners, includin' that rat Pete Morgan, that I was lookin' for when Bud Carlin found us. I figure I had good reason for not lettin' my guard down nor spillin' my guts to every Tom, Dick and Harry."

Slowly, Jess rocked his chair back and forth, "Slim, I've told you some of what I went through out in the Big Open. And that I was headed down the Owl Hoot trail if I hadn't met up with a hard-headed Wyoming rancher and his kid brother who wouldn't let me just take off with no strings attached.

"Pard, if you hadn't convinced me to stick around, I'd be pushin' up daisies in a sorry little no-account trail town by now. There's always a youngster lookin' to make his reputation or an experienced gunslinger wantin' to add to his. And it don't make no never mind whether you want a showdown or not. Push comes to shove and you either go for your iron, or you end up six foot under."

Jess hung his head. He leaned both elbows on his knees and sat staring at his empty cup. He was quiet so long, Slim began to fidget. Finally, Jess sighed and continued in a weary voice barely above a whisper, "I would've ended up six foot under somewhere, sometime. There's always somebody just a little bit faster or luckier or who has made sure the deck is stacked in his favor."

Slim sat quietly after Jess's admission. He offered Jess more whiskey, which he refused. Wind gently rustled the trees, a cooling breeze bringing a rush of gooseflesh to Slim's naked arms.

He finally asked, "Remember that idea you mentioned while we were up at Baxter's Ridge, the night you never let on you were bleeding and dragging a log around in your leg?"

"Yeah, I remember," Jess reluctantly acknowledged.

"Not only Indians can have a friend closer than a brother. I think we were just waiting to meet up, Jess, and we started becoming brothers up there along Baxter's Ridge when we took out Bud Carlin's gang. Everything we've done since has paved the way for us to be sure of sticking tight, through thick or thin, good times and bad."

Slim stood and came to stand in front of Jess. He dug in the pocket of his vest and held out his hand. "We can nick our wrists and mingle our blood for real like the Cheyenne, or we can count the times we wiped up and wiped off each other's blood from fights or gunshots or cuts or heaven knows what."

Opening his hand, he showed Jess the open pocket knife he was holding. Jess gazed at the blade in Slim's hand for a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet. He clasped Slim's hand between both of his. A shiver passed through Jess, raising the hair on his neck.

"When I found where you rode that broom-tail to the bottom of Choctaw Hill, I thought for sure I would find you and Alamo buried under the rocks at the bottom. When I realized you both survived, I started lookin' around and found drops of blood where you lit out for safety," Jess said, his voice rough with emotion.

"It took so long for me to get to where we had separated, your blood was a lot thicker than the rainwater that was mistin' down. That blood was the trail I followed. I was thankful then I wouldn't be burying my best friend that day, and I'm thankful for the home you offered me. With a simple, 'because you needed it', you became my brother then."

Slim placed his free hand over top of Jess's and held it there for the space of several heartbeats. "Come on, Pard, tomorrow starts early around the Sherman-Harper Ranch. Let's try to get some sleep."

June, 2016/October, 2017


End file.
